


Manners

by Hallucina



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallucina/pseuds/Hallucina
Summary: Post-Kingsman 1.Galahad is alive, but in the hands of a deadly foe.





	1. Chapter 1

“Galahad,” Merlin says, his voice sharp and tinny in Eggsy’s ear, “You’re going to want to see this.”

Eggsy keeps his smile fixed on his face, giving a polite laugh in response to the man telling a story across from him. Several of the other members of their table laugh lightly as well, in a way that says none of them _really_ care about what this tipsy bastard is saying. The man’s face is flushed red and the buttons of his suit are straining to keep his stomach intact.

A woman in a yellow dress has draped herself on Eggsy’s shoulders, her hand dangling a glass of champagne that’s obscuring his line of sight on the real target here. Another woman nearby, in a red, sequined dress, places her pale hand on the chest of a man in a black tuxedo. She smiles flirtatiously.

 _“Galahad,”_ Merlin hisses. Eggsy twitches in annoyance.

This blasted socialite party is killing him. He’s been here for a few hours already and wants nothing more than to go home and curl up with JB for a few episodes of _24_ , but the red-dressed woman has a USB full of nuclear launch codes hidden in her ample cleavage and that _really_ needs to stay away from tuxedo-man. He has an arm ‘round her shoulders now and the sharpness of his eyes tells Eggsy that he isn’t looking for a quick fuck.

“Eggsy. Please,” Merlin says quickly in his ear, and it’s the “Eggsy” more than the “please” that makes him get up with an excuse on his lips. Merlin hasn’t called him Eggsy since he’d been promoted to Galahad.

 _Galahad._ The name still causes a twist in his chest.

He makes it to the coat check and shoos out a couple making out enthusiastically with a sigh worthy of the most posh of rich folk. Shutting the polished wooden door behind him, he pretends to be getting a pen from his coat.

“ _What,_ Merlin?” he whispers, keeping his voice low. The room isn’t soundproof by a long shot. “You said it yourself, we can’t let her leave without getting the launch codes. You’re going to compromise my cover.”

Merlin scoffs, but there’s something off in the sound. “Those idiots wouldn’t notice anything.” He pauses, and his voice is carefully blank when he speaks. “I need you to abort the mission and return to headquarters.”

Eggsy is stunned into silence for a second. When he gathers his voice he just barely remembers to keep it quiet. “The fuck? Merlin, it’s bloody important that this lady doesn’t sell the codes to blow up the world. What are you playing at?”

“Leave it, Eggsy,” Merlin says, his voice sharp now. “Gawain will take over for you. I promise, this is worth it.”

“It fuckin’ better be,” Eggsy mutters, but he knows an order when he hears one. Merlin may not have taken up Arthur’s title, but he’s still one of the senior agents.

“You know I wouldn’t call you back for just anything,” Merlin says, his voice quiet now.

Eggsy furrows his brows at that and shrugs on his coat, buttoning it up to the collar. The table he was at will have all but forgotten him by now, and he heads out into the drizzly night without a soul blocking his way.

He drives back to the mansion, the steady thump of the windshield wipers keeping time with his pulse. All along, he’s wondering – what did Merlin find?

Because Merlin’s definitely not one to just up and abandon a mission like that.

_You’re going to want to see this._

He arrives at the mansion and makes his way to Merlin’s office, leaving his coat at the door. The rain is coming down good and hard now and makes pattering sounds as it hits the roof. Once he reaches the lower levels the noise quiets down to a dull hissing.

He opens the door, his most indignant _what_ on his lips, when he sees the picture on Merlin’s monitor and stops cold.

It’s dark and grainy, the still obviously from security camera footage, but it’s clearly _Harry_.

Now, see, after they finished the whole shebang with Valentine, Eggsy tried to go back for Harry’s body. The morgue, with an abundance of bodies pouring in from the recent global catastrophe, had been busy.

“Tall guy?” The harried man said, dark shadows under his eyes. There were at least 50 bodies in there just from the church alone. Victims of Harry’s lethality and Valentine’s careful planning. “Nice suit? Glasses? Bullet in the head?”

When Eggsy had nodded, heart in his throat, the bloke directed him to a metal drawer that was… empty.

The morgue technicians were flummoxed, but unable to provide him answers. And just like that, Harry was deprived of the last peace Eggsy could have tried to give him.

He had thanked them, like a fucking _gentleman_ , and returned to England with despair balled up in his stomach after a day’s worth of searching. Merlin had called him back. He refused to believe that Harry’s body was gone, just like that, and so returned to America in between missions, quietly spending Kingsman money on plane tickets, to chase down leads.

Merlin knew. Roxy knew. It wasn’t a fucking secret, where he went, and when he came back they always snuck careful glances at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Well, he hadn’t found a damn thing, and now Harry is staring out from Merlin’s computer monitor, and Merlin is staring at Eggsy, and Eggsy is trying to get his voice back from where it seems to have crawled down his throat.

“When,” he starts to say. His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat before trying again. “When was this taken?”

Merlin tilts his head to the timestamp that Eggsy had been avoiding. Two days ago.

“Facial recognition picked up on him,” Merlin is saying, piercing through the dull roar that’s filling Eggsy’s ears. Two days ago.

Merlin’s statement hits him in the chest. “You had facial recognition software running for him?”

Merlin only raises his eyebrows. “You had your investigations, I had mine,” he says, strangely gently.

 _Fat lot of good those did_ , Eggsy wants to say furiously, but he reins it in, frustration and a little bit of betrayal knotting in his chest. Because it’s been a year – _a year_ – since Harry’s body disappeared from the morgue, and he’s been alive this whole time?

“What’s he – why hasn’t he –”

“Come back?” Merlin finishes, a grim look overcoming his features. “I don’t know.”

Eggsy opens his mouth but all that he can think to say is a plaintive cry of _why._ _Why hasn’t he told me?_ He snaps his mouth shut so fast his jaw aches.

At that moment, Roxy bursts into the room. She stares at the picture of Harry for a half-beat and then turns to him, worry clouding her eyes. But, Eggsy notices, no surprise.

“I got your message,” Roxy says breathlessly, facing Merlin. “I came as fast as I could.”

Roxy, Eggsy remembers, had the day off. But the implications of her speech catch up to him like a freight train and he speaks over Merlin, saying, “You told her already?”

Merlin assesses him calmly. “Yes.”

Eggsy folds his arms. “Oh, well that’s bloody fantastic,” he says bitingly. “Why are you only cryptic with me?”

Merlin stares at him with an incredulous look and Eggsy belatedly remembers his instruction about complaining from that long-ago recruitment test. “I didn’t want you running off,” is all Merlin says, and Eggsy deflates, because that’s exactly what he would have done. It’s what he plans on _still_ doing, if Merlin will just tell him _where the fuck Harry is._

“Where is he?”

Merlin purses his lips. “Dubai,” he says, pulling up a map of the city and gesturing to a highly congested area near the most modern part of the city.

Eggsy’s mouth tightens. “What the fuck is he doing in Dubai?” he asks. Roxy settles next to him, her arm brushing his as she takes in the map with assessing eyes.

“I don’t _know,_ ” Merlin says sharply, his unflappable calm cracking slightly. “But it doesn’t look like it’s of his own free will.”

That brings Eggsy up short. He takes a closer look at the picture, his heart hammering in his chest. Harry’s glasses are noticeably absent to show off a black eye, his hair flopped over his face, stripped from his suit to just the white dress shirt. His hands are behind his back – probably restrained.

“Zoom out,” Eggsy says, squinting as Merlin does so.

Now it’s clear. Harry’s walking through some kind of shopping center, chrome and white tile, another bloke in a suit a step behind him. It’s dark – the shops haven’t opened yet or are already closed for the night – and a woman in a sharp pantsuit is on his other side, her back turned to the camera. All he can see of her is a head of short blond hair.

The timestamp reads 1:02 hours. Why are they dragging Harry though a mall at one in the morning? What the hell is actually going on here?

He voices the last thought aloud to Merlin and Roxy.

“From what I’ve been able to gather after finding this, there’s no record of Harry entering the country at all. This is the only place where there’s any trace of his face that the software could get a hold of,” Merlin says, sitting down at his desk and taking off his glasses. “I’m running a trace on the other bloke’s face, but it’s a bad quality image to go off of. But however Harry got to Dubai – or however he was brought there – it’s all off the books.” He rubs his eyes tiredly before beginning to tap away at his computer.

“And you’re sure – you think that it wasn’t… voluntary?” Eggsy says, uncertainty threading through his voice. He just needs to hear it.

Merlin stops clicking and looks at him with an odd expression in his eyes. “No,” he says, in that strangely gentle voice again. “No, it most definitely was not voluntary.”

The air whooshes out of Eggsy’s lungs before he can stop himself. It’s a relief, at least, to know that Harry didn’t… _want_ to stay away. He doesn’t know what he would do with that information.

Merlin has his glasses on again and is pulling up a map of a building.  

“The Mall of Arabia,” Roxy reads off the blueprints. “Is that where Harry is?”

Eggsy is startled out of his thoughts to listen to Merlin’s reply. “Yes,” he says, eyes fixed on his screen. He zooms in on a corridor. “The footage was taken from here. You’ll want to ask around about the three strangers who broke into the mall two days ago.”

“What?” Eggsy says blankly.

Merlin stares at him. “Well, you’re going, aren’t you?”

A warm feeling explodes in Eggsy’s chest. He’d been making plans in the back of his head, of how he could get away to look for Harry, but _of course_. How could he ever doubt Merlin? “Right,” he says faintly, looking to Roxy. She bumps shoulders with him, a small smile on her face.

“Judging by how thorough these people have been up until now, I’d count on an extended stay,” Merlin says, eyes back to his screen. “I have covers for you both. Arthur authorized it.”

 _Arthur_. Of course. Since Merlin declined the position, preferring to stay as technical support, the job had gone to Percival. Eggsy likes him; he’s got a level head on his shoulders. Last he heard, though, they were holding off on recruits for the new Percival to do a thorough internal investigation after the deal with the _last_ Arthur.

“All your documents should be in that drawer – no, the one below it,” Merlin directs, as Roxy reaches inside the cabinet to pull out two slim files. Eggsy can spot the glint of a red passport when she hands his over.

“I’m sending your briefings to your tablets,” Merlin goes on, as Eggsy flips open the file to open his passport. “You’ll head out tomorrow morning, we booked tickets for you both. The flight leaves at ten.”

“Bertie Johnson?” Eggsy asks incredulously, staring at his newly crafted identity. Roxy peers over his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s a lovely picture of you,” she says, a laugh in her voice. She links arms with him. “Hello Bertie, I’m your girlfriend, Sarah Campbell.”

“My girlfriend, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

Merlin watches them with a gaze tinged with amusement. “All the information should be ready for you,” he says lightly. “I don’t need to remind you how important this is?”

Eggsy sobers instantly and feels the weight of guilt in his stomach. “No. ‘Course not. Sir,” he adds.

Merlin gives him that strange look again and merely says, “I’ll let you know if anything new crops up.”

“Thanks,” Eggsy says tightly. Roxy takes a look at his face and gently steers him outside.

“What do you say?” she asks. “Shall we take a look at our brand-new selves?”

 

***

 

Bertie Johnson and Sarah Campbell have been dating for a year and a half. They share a flat in Manchester. Sarah is working on getting her medical degree; Bertie is working as a technician at a large company.

Eggsy and Roxy have fun coming up with the little details to flesh out their story – Bertie hates pickles, Sarah can’t stand the smell of lavender. They want a dog but their flat rules don’t permit it. Little things, silly things. They distract Eggsy from gouging marks in the walls or something in his frustration at waiting.

It’s already been a year. He needs to _see_ Harry, touch him, to make sure this isn’t all some kind of elaborate trick. Some blissful dream.

At around three in the morning Roxy notices his attention unraveling and forces him to get some sleep. Eggsy’s exhausted with the amount of information that has been introduced in just these few short hours.

Even with his eyes closed, all he can see is Harry’s black eye, his disheveled dress shirt. The image is burned into his retinas. They’ve had him for a whole _year._ Ever since Valentine. And he’s certain now, that if it wasn’t willingly – and he doubts that it was – that that’s why Harry never came back.

Eggsy falls into a fitful sleep, half-formed dreams rushing by like wisps of smoke. Torture, agony, that last, fateful gunshot – by the time he wakes up, at around seven in the morning, he doesn’t feel as though he’s rested at all.

He packed all of his things last night, so he whiles away an hour or two in the shooting range with Roxy. They’re trying out a nifty invention of Merlin’s – a handheld device that emits concentrated sound waves – but even that can’t help with his near-constant worrying. He gives a wide grin to Roxy when she asks what’s the matter with him that she sees straight through.

“Look, I know you’re worried,” she says seriously. “No – ” she adds when he opens his mouth to interrupt, “Everyone can tell, Eggsy. But we’re going to get him back.”

He quirks his lips in a half-smile at her. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly. If he doesn’t, it sure as hell won’t be for lack trying.

She grins, pocketing the sound-emitter-thing. “Let’s go. We don’t want to miss our flight.”

They pick up their luggage and Merlin rides with them to the airport.

“Listen,” Merlin says lowly. Eggsy’s antsy, scattered mind reassembles itself into sharp focus. “I got a partial match on the bloke with Harry in the mall.”

He pulls up a picture of a guy with a buzz cut and a twinkle in his eye. Eggsy hates him instantly.

“If it’s correct – it was only a 67% match – then this is Brendon Clark. He’s been caught before for charges of assault, but recently there have been rumors that he’s involved with some kind of crime ring. Trafficking, drugs – there’s no clear evidence, but they apparently operate under the name ‘Marigold.’”

“Marigold, huh,” Roxy says, raising her eyebrows. “Bit… tame, isn’t it?”

Merlin looks grim. “These people aren’t ones to be messed with. Apparently they’ve had almost no opposition whatsoever and they’re gaining control over smaller rings at a worryingly rapid rate. Don’t get cocky.”

Eggsy smiles guilelessly. “No problem.”

Merlin gives him an unimpressed look as the car pulls up to the airport. “Good luck,” he says watchfully as they clamber out of the back seat. “I’ll send everything about Brendon Clark and the Marigold ring to you.”

Roxy waves him goodbye as they pull their luggage up onto the curb. A puff of exhaust makes Eggsy wrinkle his nose and they head inside the airport for the tedious tasks of checking bags, going through security, and attempting to get to the gate without buying ridiculously expensive airport food.

It’s still a little bit of a treat, though – Eggsy hasn’t quite gotten used to jet-setting off to exotic locations, even though it is part of the Kingsman job. He never traveled much before (it was too expensive, and Dean would rather spend his benefit checks on alcohol) so he takes in the airport with observant eyes.

As they make their way through the various checkpoints, they keep up the dating charade. It isn’t, Eggsy notes with surprise, all that different from their normal interaction – because they flirt, of course, a _lot_ , but they both understand that at most they’ll be platonic BFFs. 

So when Roxy gives him a devilish smile and a quick peck on the lips, he grins back at her in shared confidence. He’s fairly sure she’s always swung more towards birds, anyways.

They board the plane and head back to their Bertie-and-Sarah appropriate economy seats. Eggsy stuffs his backpack under the seat in front of him and for once silently appreciates his being on the shorter side. More legroom.

The flight is just under seven hours, and after take off he wastes no time in reclining his seat the full half-inch. “Wake me up when the food comes around,” he tells Roxy. She clucks her tongue at him – Bertie eats too unhealthily in Sarah’s opinion – and she settles down to take advantage of the free entertainment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see the new Bond movie?” she asks with a smirk. He rolls his eyes at her and looks down at the endless cloud cover. Somewhere below them, some 4,500 miles away, Harry was walked through a shopping center in the dead of night.

He closes his eyes and tries to will away his thoughts.

 

***

 

Eggsy wakes up when the captain’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing their descent in 20 minutes. He can’t believe he actually slept through the entire flight, but when he shoots a look to Roxy, all he gets is a shrug and an innocent smile.

“Traitor,” he whispers to her, grinning despite himself.

“You needed the sleep,” she says, tucking away her headphones. Eggsy grumbles a bit but reluctantly concedes. He needs to be at the top of his game when they get Harry back.

The plane makes a rattling landing and they’re off into the whirling hustle and bustle of Dubai. The air is hot and heavy, a stark contrast from the usual London greyness, and he shrugs off his coat in an attempt to ward off the heat.

“What hotel are we at again?” Eggsy says, squinting in the bright light as they wait for a taxi with their luggage. He hails one as Roxy looks over their papers.

“The Oberoi,” Roxy says, nodding to the driver.

Eggsy pays him in Dirham – Merlin made sure their currency exchange was all set up – and after a slightly chaotic ride, they arrive at the hotel. Eggsy whistles.

“Whoa,” he says, and winks at Roxy. “Swanky.”

She rolls her eyes and they drag their luggage into the hotel to check in. It _is_ impressive; a towering structure of glass windows that overlooks the surrounding city. Inside, the lobby is clean and polished, columns of golden glass mosaic dotting the dark wood floor. Cream chairs with red pillows are scattered throughout.

“Room 209,” the receptionist says, handing them their key with a smile. She’s dressed in a smart red jacket that matches the colour of the pillows.

They thank her and head upstairs. Their room is decorated in the same vein as the lobby – cream and red with gold accents. Best not to stain that.

“Ooh,” Roxy exclaims from where she’s checking out the bathroom. “I call dibs on the bath.”

“Yeah, you can have it,” Eggsy mutters. Everything is so pristine he doesn’t want to sit down. They have a wall made entirely out of glass that provides a stunning view of the city, opening up to a small balcony. It’s also a lovely target for a sniper rifle.

“Is the room up to your standards?” Eggsy calls jokingly to where Roxy is still poking around the bathroom. In essence that means _you found any bugs yet_ , but hopefully they haven’t drawn enough attention yet for anyone to notice their arrival.

“I’m still checking,” Roxy calls back dryly. Eggsy snorts and starts sweeping behind the dresser and curtains. Pretend dating. It’s a bit ridiculous, really – domestic super spies.

Roxy comes out of the bathroom, drying her hands on a towel. “Well?” Eggsy asks, sitting back on his heels.

“It will suffice,” Roxy declares theatrically. “How about you?”

He finishes examining under and in the mattress and pillows. “It’s divine. Tell your mum I say thanks.”

“Ah, yes, my mum,” Roxy says, amusement glinting in her eyes. She’s going to tell that to Merlin and Eggsy is going to get his arse reamed. Her eyes sharpen, then, because now that they’ve established there’s no bugs in their room they need to get to work.

“Alright,” she says, opening her laptop. “I have all the information on Brendon Clark and Marigold; I read it on the flight. Have you –” She cuts herself off at Eggsy’s guilty start. He should have been reading, he should have been _preparing_ , but instead he conked out and wasted seven hours. Seven precious hours that they could have been doing who knows what to Harry.

“Don’t you dare,” Roxy says sternly, seeing the torment in his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “Seriously. Not your fault. Skim it over and then I say we go check out the mall security.”

Eggsy gives a sharp nod, his heart in his throat, and scans the briefing of Brendon Clark and Marigold.

There’s worryingly little. Brendon Clark, a Welsh native, was arrested once for charges of assault from his girlfriend, one Emma Carter. He’s ex-armed forces and was kicked out on an honorable discharge after an injury to the shoulder, but about two years ago he disappeared from all official records.

On Marigold, there’s even less. It’s a crime ring with about three known splinter groups, but there are no reports of any types of leadership. No one has gotten close enough to see anything valuable about the command structure. They apparently are a medium for all modes of trade – drugs, weapons, humans – and they’re recently come into power in the past year.

“That’s close to when Clark went off-grid,” Eggsy remarks to Roxy, and she nods grimly.

“It’s impossible to tell who the woman is. None of her clothes had any distinguishing labels or marks on them, but Merlin suspects she might be one of the higher ups in Marigold,” she says, enlarging the security picture of the mysterious blonde woman.

Eggsy takes on last look over the document and shuts down his laptop. “Let’s go,” he pleads, feeling antsy again.

“Let me change first,” Roxy says, and goes into the bathroom, which looks pretty nice as well from what Eggsy can see. When she reemerges she’s wearing black slacks, a white button up, and a dangerous grin. “Let’s bulldoze a few flowers,” she says, grabbing the hotel keycard on her way out.

Eggsy shakes his head. “That was so cheesy,” he says, and follows her out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

They take a cab to the Mall of Arabia, the air growing colder as dusk approaches. Eggsy texts Merlin on the way there – a quick message to let him know they got there all right and that they might be sending some new info his way. Merlin texts back in a few seconds with an affirmative, the ping of the new message lighting up the car. Eggsy doesn’t even want to think about the astronomical international texting fees.

The cabbie drops them off on the doorstep of a gigantic mall. He hops out of the taxi, putting on his sunglasses, and they stop by a directory. Turns out this mall has an indoor park with a man-made river, and – is that dinosaurs?

Roxy locates the office on the second floor and they’re about to step on the escalator when she stops. “Wait a minute; one last thing,” she says, and twists her hair with practiced motions into a sleek bun.

“What about me?” Eggsy says wryly, gesturing to his outfit of jeans and plain black t-shirt. “Do I look enough like your lackey?”

She looks over him appraisingly. “Yes, you look appropriately disheveled and knuckleheaded,” she says with a grin, and heads up the escalator.

“Charming,” Eggsy says, and follows.

They reach the office with no opposition, being paid no heed by mall-goers heading to dinner or late-night shopping.

Roxy raps on the door sharply, her tablet tucked under her other arm. “Excuse me,” she calls out tersely. There’s a muffled commotion from inside and the door is opened warily.

“What?” the man asks, a slight accent tingeing his words. He rubs his eyes tiredly and stares at them stiffly.

Roxy strides into the office, pushing past the man easily. Eggsy sidles in after her. The office is lit primarily by the computer monitors that make up one wall, though one fluorescent light flickers feebly on the ceiling. Wrappers and papers litter the floor and desks. Another man stands up as they enter, turning to the first.

“Who are these people?” he asks in Arabic.

“SIS,” Roxy says crisply, flashing them a completely fake badge. “We need to take a look at your security tapes from three days ago.”

The men stare at each other in confusion. Eggsy crosses his arms and tries to look intimidating.

“Now, please!” Roxy snaps. “This is a matter of global security!” She turns slightly and the gun at her hip is exposed.

The men spring into wary movement, pulling up a file with the correct date on it. “This is the entire day’s recordings,” the first man says cautiously.

“Good. Fast-forward to 1300 hours,” Roxy says coolly. The second man scrambles to do so while the first edges back towards the desk.

“Pause,” she says, once the three blurry figures are on screen. They freeze mid-step. “Can you tell me anything about any of these three people?”

The men shake their heads frantically.

Roxy narrows her eyes. “What about this woman?” She points to the slim blonde on screen.

“No, no, sorry,” the second man says, eyes sliding away from her.

“What about Marigold?” Eggsy breaks in, his voice sharp.

There’s a wary silence before the first man laughs, his voice tainted with hysteria. “Who  _doesn’t_ know Marigold?” he says wildly, and a glint of metal is all the warning Eggsy gets before gunshots are ringing out in the small office.

He tackles Roxy to the floor. A sharp pain blooms in his arm and Roxy grunts, already pulling her gun free from her holster and firing off a round. Eggsy kicks the second man’s chair over and jams his signet ring against his throat as he falls over, the resulting shock leaving the man’s corpse in spasms on the floor.

Eggsy looks over at Roxy, breathing hard, the figure of the first man slumped against the wall of computer screens. The three blurry figures on screen are now streaked with blood.

“You good?” he asks, noting how her left shoulder droops.

“I’m fine, the suit caught it,” she says with a wince, digging the bullet out of her jacket and dropping it in her pocket. She looks up, wisps of hair coming loose from her bun, and her gaze sharpens. “You’re bleeding.”

Eggsy starts and looks down at a red trail of blood winding its way down his arm. He checks the rip in his shirtsleeve. “It’s just a graze,” he says, grabbing a clean napkin from the desk and pressing it down to staunch the blood flow.

Roxy stares at the bloodied office. “Well, shit,” she announces.

“Looks like Marigold has a farther reach than we thought,” Eggsy agrees, wiping the blood off his arm and stuffing the used napkin in his pocket.

Roxy’s eyebrows are drawn together in contemplation.

“What?” Eggsy asks.

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. The thoughtful look is replaced with determination. “Let’s go. Get in contact with Merlin, will you? I’m going to get you a jacket.”

“Sure,” Eggsy nods, eyebrows raised. He can’t very well go into the crowded mall with his arm dripping everywhere, though. He puts on his glasses, tapping the side, as Roxy slips out the door. “Oi, Merlin?”

There’s a muffled yell before Merlin speaks. “What happened, Galahad?” He wasn’t expecting them – this was supposed to be simple recon, not something that required Merlin’s direct assistance.

“We’re going to need cleanup in the office of the Mall of Arabia,” Eggsy says, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along his signet ring. “One of the blokes went nuts after Lancelot mentioned Marigold, he fired off a couple shots.”

“Injuries?” Merlin asks crisply. Eggsy can hear the tap-tap-tap of his fingers on keys in the background.

“Graze, right arm. Lancelot got one in the shoulder but the suit got it,” Eggsy lists off. “Marigold’s a bigger deal than we thought.” Roxy enters the room again and hands him a black leather jacket that he wrinkles his nose at.

“Get back to the hotel,” Merlin orders. “You two are in too much of a hot spot, especially if those men are part of Marigold. I have a cleanup team three minutes away. Lock the door behind you.”

“Got it,” Eggsy says, and nods at Roxy. He shrugs on the jacket carefully and tucks his glasses into his pocket. The click of the lock behind them as they leave gives him a sinking feeling in his stomach.

They make it back to the hotel at around seven at night, the late sunset painting the sky orange and purple. They sneak by the folks at the reception desk unnoticed – after all, in the Oberoi, they’re only Sarah and Bertie.

In the room, Eggsy checks his wound – the bleeding’s stopped – and starts disinfecting it. Roxy dumps her jacket on the bed and rolls her shoulder, wincing. She glances over at him with eyebrows raised.

“Do you think they were part of Marigold?” she asks him. Eggsy shrugs helplessly, pulling out the suture kit.

“Ask Merlin,” he says, voice muffled from the needle he has held in his teeth, his hands busy with the thread.

She puts Merlin on speaker and joins him cross-legged on the floor. “Merlin?” she asks.

“I heard, Lancelot,” Merlin says distractedly. “I’m running those IDs you swiped.”

Eggsy looks at Roxy in askance and she holds up two IDs that she produced from her pocket. Good girl. He hadn’t even noticed.

“I can’t find any evidence of them being mixed up in any sort of criminal activity,” Merlin says at last, interrupting the tense silence. “However, here’s something interesting – there was a third man on their rotation, but two days ago he disappeared without a trace.”

“So, what, blackmail?” Eggsy says, scrunching his face up in concentration. He ties the last knot off and slaps a bandage on his arm. He looks up to see Roxy’s unreadable expression.

“Maybe they were just scared,” she says finally.

“My best guess is that someone approached them after those three got caught on camera and threatened them, and the first didn’t cooperate,” Merlin mutters. “The other two were deemed trustworthy enough – probably blackmailed, Galahad, you’re right.”

Roxy’s hands twitch. Collateral damage is, unfortunately, part of the job.

“Does that give us any leads?” Eggsy asks, packing away the suture kit.

“Not really,” Merlin says, in a way that tells Eggsy he’s absorbed in something else. “They weren’t even on the fringes of the group, just scared by ‘em. Why don’t you try – ”

At that moment, the phone rings loudly, making Eggsy jump. He turns the jump into a movement to answer it, but judging by Roxy’s small smirk, she saw his start.

“Hello?” Eggsy asks.

There’s a beat of pause before a woman – the receptionist, Eggsy remembers – replies. “I have a call waiting for Bertie Johnson and Sarah Campbell,” she says coolly.

Eggsy can feel a furrow forming between his brows. “Sure,” he says slowly. “Put them on.”

There’s a click and a new voice comes on the line. It’s honey-smooth, lilting – American, Eggsy notices. “Hello,” she practically purrs, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Who is this?” he asks roughly.

“Someone who’s very interested to meet you,” she says. After a pause, she says, “I think dinner would be nice, I’m famished. How about AT.MOSPHERE? Bring your charming girlfriend, too.”

“Excuse me?” Eggsy says, confusion now morphing into suspicion. By now Roxy and Merlin are both silent and he quietly hits the button for speakerphone.

“You see, _Bertie,”_ she says, her smooth tones rolling around the room now. “I have a… colleague of yours that I think you might be interested in.”

The suspicion is chased away by a bright flare of anger. He opens his mouth but is stopped by Roxy’s warning look, and he takes a deep breath before speaking. Fire flickers in his chest.

“Whom are you referring to?” he asks through gritted teeth.

The woman clucks her tongue. “Now, none of that. I’d much rather have this conversation in person. You have 30 minutes.”

The line goes dead with a loud click and Eggsy is left staring at the phone, shaking with anger.

He immediately turns to Roxy. “Do you think she has Harry?”

Roxy looks unsure, her gaze darting from the phone to Eggsy’s face and back. “I – ” she stops, a crease forming between her brows. “She knew where we were,” she starts again. “And what our names were, and we’ve only been here a few hours. We have to assume she has people in the hotel.”

“The line was encrypted,” Merlin breaks in, sounding frustrated. “I couldn’t trace it, and I couldn’t get a match on her voice either.”

“Let’s just go and see what we find out,” Roxy says cautiously. Eggsy can’t blame her. They’re flying blind.

Merlin gives a vague noise of disapproval. “Fuck. Alright, Roxy, earpiece, we can’t have both of you wearing glasses. AT.MOSPHERE is formal dress, third floor from the top of the Burj Khalifa.”

“The Burj – ” Eggsy starts, because he feels like he’s heard that before –

“It’s the highest recorded restaurant in the world,” Merlin says grimly, “So don’t fall.”

 

***

            

The restaurant is… breathtaking to say the least. Well, breathtaking in more than one way, if Roxy’s pale face is anything to go by. Eggsy can see the whole city laid out before him, the buildings small as dollhouses.

They changed into formal wear in the 30 minutes allotted to them, Eggsy sporting his Kingsman suit and Roxy in a slim-fitting cream dress with her suit jacket draped over one arm. Her hair is down to conceal any trace of her earpiece.

They reach the hostess, a bored looking woman texting on her phone, and give their names: Bertie Johnson and Sarah Campbell. Her gaze goes from bored to alert real fast, and if Eggsy wasn’t on edge already, he definitely would be now.

“Follow me,” the woman says, her voice pitched just a bit too high, and leads them to a secluded table in the corner of the room, near the wall and the stunning view of the city.

There’s a woman with short blond hair sitting at the table.

Roxy and he approach cautiously, the hostess drawing out their chairs before quickly scuttling from the area. The nearby tables are all deserted, except for one to the left containing one Brendon Clark, and other diners keep giving their table nervous looks. Eggsy can hear Merlin tapping in his ear.

“I ordered for you,” she says, that throaty golden voice again, as she twirls her finger around the rim of her wine glass. Her gaze is piercing and nearly colorless. “I hope you don’t mind. They have some of the best food in all of Dubai.”

Eggsy inclines his head warily. “Thank you.”

She stares at him, still with that circling finger, before her gaze shifts to Roxy.

Roxy lifts her chin. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she says lightly. Her hands are places in her lap – under her cream dress, she has a knife and three neurotoxin-coated darts tucked against her thighs.

The woman smiles slightly, her teeth a slash of white against her red lips. “You can call me Marion.”

Marion. _As in Marigold?_ Eggsy wants to ask. But he doesn’t know how much this woman knows about them, how much she’s found out. She still called them by their code names. Merlin inhales sharply in his ear and the tapping increases speed.

“Although,” she says, looking right at Eggsy, “It seems unfair that I’ve introduced myself and you two haven’t. Not properly.”

Roxy stiffens imperceptibly beside him. Eggsy cringes internally. There goes that card. “What do you mean?” she asks politely, laughing a little. “You seem to know exactly who we are.”

The woman – Marion – looks disappointed. She leans back, crossing her legs, her dark blue dress brushing Eggsy’s leg. “If you really are Bertie and Sarah, then you won’t have any interest in the person I mentioned earlier. Feel free to enjoy the dinner – it’s on me.”

She makes as if to stand up, and Eggsy, feeling desperate, blurts, “Gary.” He can feel Harry slipping through their fingers. Marion turns to him delightedly and Roxy crushes her heel on Eggsy’s foot hard enough to bruise.

“Gary! So nice to finally meet you,” she says, her words sharp as glass. Merlin hisses and Eggsy can practically hear the disapproval radiating off him. Marion turns to Roxy expectedly.

“Anne,” Roxy says finally, her face guarded. “Roxanne.”

“Anne,” Marion echoes. “And Gary. Quaint.”

She smiles again, but now they’re at an impasse, unwilling to reveal their true cards. “There’s no record of any ‘Marion’ associated with Marigold,” Merlin says lowly in his ear.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you two been together?” Marion asks, tilting her head invitingly. Her neck is a long stretch of cream skin that makes Eggsy twitch.

Roxy rests her foot against the back of his calf. “A year and a half,” she says, because that’s what was true for Bertie and Sarah. Marion isn’t looking at her, though. Her strangely grey eyes are fixed on Eggsy.

“Really,” she says, sounding unconvinced. “That’s exciting. Though not, I think, the whole story. No matter,” she leans forward, her dress catching glints of light from the candles on the table, “Let’s bypass the chitchat and move on to real business, shall we?”

Eggsy nods slightly in consent. This woman puts him on edge, throws him off his game – he doesn’t know her objective, can’t read her body language. Roxy’s foot against his leg grounds him enough to relax a bit and quit sitting so stiffly in his chair. Marion is a manipulator. He can read it in the curve of her lips and the long line of her neck. He needs to be confident.

“Brendon,” she says, leaning back and smiling over her shoulder. “Would you mind…? Thanks, sugar.” She sets down a thin manila file beside her plate and riffles through it, her polished fingers quick and sure. She plucks out a square of white paper and holds it out to Eggsy, gazing at him intently. She’s waiting for his reaction.

He takes it and flips it over, dimly noticing Roxy shifting to get a better view.

 It’s Harry, slumped and apparently asleep, sitting awkwardly in the corner of a room. He’s wearing the same clothes that he was in the security footage, his hands cuffed separately and attached to the wall. His ankles are cuffed to the floor.

“Your colleague, yes?” Marion asks, her eyes trained on Eggsy. His throat is tight and he swallows to try and clear it.

“Yes. Colleague,” he echoes.

Something like triumph flits over her expression before her face smoothes out. “Good. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Eggsy raises his eyebrow and doesn’t answer. His stomach feels as though it’s full of writhing snakes.

“I did so wish to meet the person who supplied him with those fancy gadgets of his,” she continues, and Eggsy just knows that’s why Harry’s practically stripped in there. “But I suppose a… colleague… will have to suffice. I’ll take you to meet him, you know,” she adds. Eggsy feels a faint beating of hope in his chest that he clamps down quickly.

“In exchange for what?” Roxy asks, her voice hard. Marion was right; the small talk is long dead and buried.

She laughs a silvery laugh, as if to say, _silly girl_. “The meeting? Oh, no, that’s free of charge.” She smiles widely.

Roxy glances at him warningly. _She wants to see our reaction_. Eggsy cuts in, his voice rough, “And what about his release?”

Roxy closes her eyes in resignation and Merlin curses in his earpiece. This isn’t how a Kingsman negotiates, but he can’t seem to control his mouth. The hope bubbling in his chest is escaping as words.

Marion’s face falls so that she looks, comically, almost remorseful. “His release? I’m sorry, truly, but I can’t release him. He’s much too valuable to me.”

At that moment their meal arrives, the waiters approaching and leaving as swiftly as possible. Marion’s dire warning rings in his ears as he stares down at the decadent dish. _He’s much too valuable to me_. He feels sick.

What have they done to him?

“I will take you to meet him, however,” she continues, her voice low and enticing now. “It’s the least I can do.”

Roxy nods and kicks Eggsy in the shin. “That would be much appreciated,” she says smoothly. Her eyes flicker over to him and he stares back helplessly.

“Excellent,” Marion says, her colorless gaze darting between them. She smiles again, slightly. “Bon appétit.”

Their meal is eaten in stony silence. Every bite Eggsy takes tastes like ashes in his mouth.

“Eggsy,” Merlin hisses in his ear. “You need to get a hold of yourself. She’s manipulating you much too easily. She’s not planning to let Harry go alive.”

Yeah, he could have figured that out himself.

The moment they’re finished, a server comes in to swoop away their plates. “It’s on the house, Miss,” he says in accented English, his eyes glancing nervously from Marion to her guests.

Marion, for her part, stands up gracefully and inclines her head. “It was a pleasure, Gary,” she nods to him, “Anne.”

“Our thanks,” Roxy speaks for Eggsy, guiding him to stand with a light touch on his arm.

Marion continues, blond hair swinging as she turns her head. “Now would be a good time for that meeting, don’t you agree? Follow me,” she says, and moves in front of them. She’s blocking their path to the elevator.

“We’re quite tired, actually,” Eggsy tries, smiling generously. “Perhaps another time?”

Her gaze hardens. “Nonsense,” she says briskly. “I can’t have you planning things behind my back, can I?” She widens her eyes.

“I – ” Eggsy looks to Roxy with a growing sense of hopelessness. He needs to talk to her, _alone_ , about Harry and about this batshit-crazy lady. Merlin makes a displeased noise in his ear.

“I won’t be offering again,” Marion says, her voice changing tones now. Eggsy thought before was business? No fucking way. _Now_ is business. He winces – because before, when she said business, she was playing with them. “Take it or leave it.” Her voice is hard as diamond.

Eggsy looks at Roxy before nodding. “Now works for us too,” he says sardonically.

Marion beams. “Marvelous,” she says, her eyes flickering to Brendon behind them. She turns away and starts heading towards the elevator without glancing back to see if they’re following. Roxy nudges him forward with a shove at the small of his back and his feet move automatically. His blood is thundering in his ears.

They ride down the elevator in silence. Clark is standing behind the pair of them, a heavy presence, and Marion is tapping away on her phone. It’s something Harry would find especially rude, Eggsy thinks with a kind of hysterical humor.

He tries to get a glimpse of her screen but she tilts it away from him and shoots him an amused look. Roxy’s grip tightens around his arm.

The elevator doors ping open and the few people working at the desk duck their heads hurriedly. Marion strides swiftly to the door to where a shiny black town car is waiting at the curb.

Clark opens the drivers’ door and another man gets out, scurrying back to the lobby. Valet. The air is cool but heavy with the day’s humidity.

“Unfortunately,” Marion says, stopping them from where they’re about to climb into the car, “You will need to be blindfolded.” A click of her fingers is all the warning Eggsy gets before a black cloth is being tied securely over his eyes, his glasses removed with one quick motion. Clark is fast. And quiet.

“It’s just a precaution,” she continues apologetically, almost sing-song. “Can’t have you getting any ideas.”

There’s a hand on his arm that’s not Roxy’s. Delicate fingers that are almost feverishly hot, burning enough that he can feel it through his suit jacket. It guides him to the back seat door. “It’s a short ride,” Marion’s voice whispers in his ear, her breath hot against his ear. A perfume like wildflowers pools in the air and his  nostrils flare at the unfamiliar scent.

The ride is bumpy and makes hairpin turns multiple times. Eggsy’s sense of direction is good – better than most – but this is an unfamiliar city with a driver who has clearly dealt with people memorizing the route before. His hand finds Roxy’s in the seat between them and he grips it tightly. She squeezes back reassuringly.

The blindfold is tied well. This isn’t Clark’s first time assisting in a kidnapping. And his glasses – shit, his glasses – are gone, presumably with Clark or Marion. He can’t hear Merlin anymore – he’s flying blind, literally and figuratively.

The noise of the city drowns out any defining sounds. After what Eggsy gauges to be about twenty minutes, they screech to a stop. He hears the front doors open before Clark opens both their doors and hauls them out.

There’s that smell of wildflowers again and the feverish hand is back on his arm, walking him forward into an air-conditioned building. There’s some kind of checkpoint – someone runs a screening rod over him, but nothing beeps – and another ding before the sound of a sliding door registers in his mind.

Fingers – Clark’s, he guesses – untie the blindfold swiftly and it falls to the floor. Eggsy blinks at the sudden change in light as Marion hits a sleek metal button in the door of what he now realizes is an elevator. He moves subtly closer to Roxy.

She gives him a wary glance as the elevator starts up smoothly and begins descending. Then, she flicks her eyes to the left and blinks quickly three times. _Good. She still has her earpiece._

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, Marion stepping out delicately into the dark. They follow and florescent lights on the ceiling turn on with a hiss.

They’re in some sort of long hallway, safe-like doors studded at regular intervals. It looks intimidatingly military and Eggsy realizes that all pretenses have been shed by now. The only sounds now are Marion’s clicking heels on the concrete floor.

At the very end of the hallway, they turn a sharp right, and Clark, a shadow at their heels, spins Roxy and him around with hands on their shoulders. Behind them, Marion seems to be typing in a passcode. The door opens with a loud creaking sound and Clark steps back as they turn around and enter the room.

Eggsy cuts off his intake of breath sharply.

In the middle of the room, there’s a circular glass tank, reinforced with steel. Harry is chained against the shelf at one end that seems to be serving as a bed, sprawled awkwardly and clearly asleep.

Suddenly, his eyes flash open. The look on his face is nothing short of terror. 


End file.
